


What Next?

by shaily



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaily/pseuds/shaily
Summary: What they do after the war, how they grieve and how they survive.





	What Next?

As they walked down the stairs from the headmaster’s office, no one spoke. There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the three of them, which wasn't the least bit surprising, after all that had happened. At the bottom of the stairs, Harry looked at the gargoyle, which looked quite the same as it had when they had gone up. He looked at Ron and Hermione beseechingly, as if asking for something, requesting them to understand. They did. Ron nodded at him, Hermione hugged him, and the pair turned around and walked away. He did not need to ask them where they would go or what they would do, that much was quite obvious. The Weasley’s had suffered, suffered enough, and Harry knew Ron would go to them. Hermione would too, but would soon leave to find her parents. 

He stood in front of that wrecked gargoyle for a while, thinking about all the families that had suffered losses tonight, all the families that would never be same, all the parents whose children had died fighting, all the children whose parents had died fighting. He knew, some reasonable part of him knew that it wasn’t his fault that all these people were dead, he knew, that he had done all he could, and he knew that he would do it again, if it meant that the rest could live. He knew, and yet, grieved. 

Soon enough, fatigue took over his mind, and he did not realise when he had started to walk. He was walking slowly, as if every step resonated with some ache inside. Without paying much attention to where he was going, he found himself in the Gryffindor common room. He had no idea how he’d actually come inside, but he doubted after the last few hours, days, months, the Fat Lady would have stopped him to ask for the password.  
The room was empty, the sun shining through the high windows, illuminating unoccupied armchairs and a room that had very obviously seen better days. Numbly, Harry walked up the stairs to his old dormitory. It seemed as though his four-poster had been assigned to someone else, there were some clothes strewn around and a trunk was half visible from under the bed. Bearing no regard to the fact that it wasn’t his bed anymore, he lay down, and was fast asleep in no time. 

He woke up to see the sun slanting its rays across the sky in the west, and realised he must have slept through the better part of the day. His next thought was food. Something, anything that would satisfy the rumbling that he now realised came from his stomach. Mumbling something about pumpkin juice, he staggered out of the dormitory. On his way to the kitchens, some part of his mind registered the lack of people in the corridors, but his empty stomach didn’t quite let him concentrate on that particular fact yet. 

Harry tickled the pear on the painting of the fruit bowl, and something occurred to him. Would the house elves still be there, in the kitchens, after what had happened? He wondered. 

The answer to his question came almost instantly. The painting had given way to the entrance of the kitchen and before he knew it, thousands of elves were running to him, surrounding him with hoots and cheers. 

“Get back! Master needs food and rest, get back!” A shrill voice was shouting amidst the crowd of elves. Kreacher. Alive.

Once he felt that he had enough food and drink to last him an entire month, he thanked the elves - much to their delight - and started back towards the Great Hall. 

He stopped abruptly at the doors. The Great Hall was empty. Not completely empty, there were a few people huddled together in small groups at various parts of the four tables. He recognised a few of them, some students, some teachers; but none of them took notice of the boy with messy black hair, the man whose eyes shown with nothing but exhaustion. 

Almost all the bodies of the dead had been removed from the hall. Harry assumed that they had been moved, or transported back to their homes. Family and friends would soon gather to pay their respects and grieve together. 

He could not see Ron or Hermione in the hall, or in fact, any of the Weasley’s. They must have gone back to the Burrow with Fred’s body - they were a lot of things to be done now that the world was right again. And it was pretty clear to him what he had to do now. What he wanted to do.


End file.
